Try
by iluvskyfunky
Summary: Songfic based on P!nk's "Try". Marie goes to relieve some emotions with her guitar when Logan comes back from a trip.


Walking through the halls of the mansion, I heaved a tired sigh. It was one of those days, I guess. Some were better than others, and other days could get really nasty, but today… today I was just existing, it seemed… it was one of ithose/i days. As I said, some were better than others. Already feeling my mood slipping, I headed for my room, but before I got there, I stopped by the door before mine. iHis/i room.

Nowadays, he came and went as he saw fit, occasionally going on missions, and even teaching a class or two, but this was the summer after graduation… and he had barely been home. I think it was that I was no longer considered a high school student, on top of having turned 21 in the last few months, that pushed him away. Yes, it took me a few extra years to graduate; I hadn't always been the best student and there weren't really chances to study when you were hitch-hiking, you know? So, yes, I had just graduated about a month ago. I had recently been accepted to an online university and I am going to start taking Gen-Ed classes in the fall… I'll probably major in some sort of education, but what specifically, I don't know yet.

So yeah, plans for the future…

That I could take with me as long as I had a laptop and internet…

Meaning I could go on the road….

With a certain someone…

I scoffed and shook my head as I opened his door. For being such a private person, he never kept it locked. Maybe because everyone's afraid of him and he figures that's enough to keep people out.

But not me. I smile a bit as I walk in. I close the door behind me and move into the room. With slightly enhanced senses, I take a good whiff: tobacco, cigars, stale beer… all things that remind me of him, but underneath that is his unique scent of forest, man and something that is all undeniably iLogan/i… and my heart quietly aches. I miss him, I do, but it's just enough to have this of him.

I moved to sit on his bed. I glance around the sparse room, taking notice of the few things that are Logan's. There's a picture on the wall in front of me of a lake in Canada – Moraine Lake, to be specific, in Alberta – just above the simple desk that was rarely used. Moving my eyes to the left, I pass the doorway with a couple coat hooks for his many coats. After that is the closet where he keeps his boots and duffle bag, along with the "penguin" suits the Professor makes him keep. Next to that is the dresser, where he keeps his coin bowl. When he's here, that's where he puts his wallet and belt – yes, occasionally he doesn't where the belt with the infamously huge buckle. Behind the dresser is a mirror.

The corner a few yards away has the most Logan-esque piece of furniture in the entire mansion. It is a giant, dark brown, leather chair. But not just any chair. This chair was handmade from a guy up in, you guessed it, Canada; an old friend, apparently. The chair is made from leather from Canadian cows and uses logs from the old logging mill he, apparently, use to work at. It really is a simple chair, but is so damn comfortable – I've been known to sneak in here and use it to study. It and the bed are probably the only two pieces of furniture Logan really uses; and you can tell it's used a lot because the leather is comfortably worn.

Next to the chair is a simple reading lamp and a few feet from that is the window. A few feet to the left of that is a small bookshelf. Yes, Logan reads. Actually, it's one of the more "dignified" pastimes he really enjoys. The three shelves are covered in books that make some peoples' heads hurt, I'm sure, but Logan enjoys them all the same. He says that they challenge him in a way that's different from an opponent, and he likes that. It's not that he struggles to read, but he tends to pick up books that have a lot going on, or are really, really deep. Not mushy deep, but philosophically deep. Sometimes we'll talk about the ideas in some of those books; I've even picked up and read a few of them.

But that's basically it, besides the bed I'm sitting on with the nightstand next to it. There's a lamp on the night stand and next to it is a picture of me. It shocked me when I saw it a couple of weeks ago right after he left. It was of me and him at graduation. I was in the typical robe and hat, and he in his flannel shirt, but the jeans he wore were brand new and he had polished the belt buckle specifically for the occasion; it's the small things that really matter. I don't remember the picture being taken, but I remember what had happened. It was just after the ceremony when everyone was mingling. After he hugged me as congratulations, we both stood off to the side, his arm around my shoulders. He'd just made some joke about Scott and for whatever reason I found it hilariously funny. The picture was of me laughing – my head tipped back, mouth open in a silent laugh and my eyes closed – and of him looking at me with the most tender expression I've ever seen on his face – there was a slight smile on his lips, but his eyes were full of such emotion as he looked at me.

Taking hold of the picture, I studied it carefully, not for the first time. My fingers lightly traced the two people in it as I took it in. And not for the first time, I wonder what his eyes were betraying exactly. The more oblivious side of me just thought it was friendly affection, maybe from a big brother or a best friend. I didn't relax all that much, even I knew that; so maybe he was surprised by the open laugh. However, the hope I had inside of me and my heart were both convinced that the emotions in his eyes in this particular picture ran much deeper than that. That it was love in those eyes.

For better or worse, it was this that turned around and strengthened that hope.

I'm doomed.

Sighing, I placed the picture back on the nightstand and left the room, closing the door securely as I left.

Thoroughly emotional now – hope, doubt, love, affection, anxiety, confusion all vying for dominance – I opened my door and went into my room.

I no longer lived with Kitty or Jubilee. Kitty, like a few others, had moved off to college a few hours from here. Jubilee still lived in the mansion, but she was going to the community college in town. However, seeing as we were all adults, no longer high school students, both Jubilee and I had been given single rooms in a different wing; hence, me living next to Logan. This also freed up three spots for any new students, which had quickly been filled.

So this room was all my own. It had the same general furniture as everyone else's – bed, nightstand, lamp, dresser, closet, non-Canadian reading chair and reading lamp, and desk. What made it mine were the knickknacks. At some point I had picked up photography, and so my walls were filled with pictures. Some were of friends from different events, others were places I had been, and some were of me and Logan, and the few trips we took. Secretly, those were my favorite. My dresser was full of beauty and hair products and a change jar. My desk was messy with old papers and books. My night stand next to my bed had a lamp and a picture: my favorite one.

I don't know how I had managed it, but I had snuck up on Logan that day – or maybe he let me, I don't know – but either way, I had taken a very relaxed, very real, picture. Logan doesn't let much show on his face, though he never could control the expressions in his eyes, and so when that control slips, it's a very rare sight. In this picture, though, he looked almost happy. It was in the middle of the afternoon, mid-May, on a Saturday. The kids were outside playing and making a bunch of noise in the front yard; Logan had sneaked off to the side yard and I had come from the back yard. He had his signature cigar in his mouth and an unreadable expression on his face. The key, though, was to look at his posture. He was leaning against one of the giant oak trees on the edge of the tree-line. His shoulders weren't tense: he was honestly just relaxing against the tree. His head was tilted back, like he was warming his face by the sun, and his eyes were closed. The ever-vigilant, borderline-paranoid Wolverine closed his eyes. And, if you looked ireally/i close, you could even see the small smile that graced his lips that day.

And that is why it's my favorite: real-Logan smiles are very rare, so when you catch one, it's best to hold onto it.

Smiling once again, though still slightly emotional, I looked around my room before I spotted my guitar. Moving to it, I picked it up in its case, put my arms through the straps, and walked out of my room, closing my door. Quickly, but not rushed, I walked through the mansion to the front door and out onto the lawn. Not slowing down, I made my way to the trees. When I had gone far enough in so that it was hard to see the mansion, I slowed down a bit and my spirits lifted, just slightly. Being surrounded by nature, usually trees, always made me feel better, at least a little bit. If I'm not careful, I can get caught up in the serene quiet and forget what else might be going on around me. I moved my head around, looking at all the green around me, my feet having memorized the path long ago.

iEver wonder about what he's doing  
How it all turned to lies  
Sometimes I think that it's better  
To never ask why/i

My destination was about a half hour's walk, which gave me plenty of time to think. And as my thoughts often do, they wandered to a certain, stubborn Canuck. Thoughts of him usually bring a rush of emotions; this time is no different. Happiness comes first, because he is a dear friend and when he's home, it's not hard for me to be happy that he's simply near. Then a pang of understanding sadness – resignation, maybe – because he's gone, and though I know why he is gone, and can understand it, I still miss him. The others, doubt, confusion, anxiety, and sometimes anger, usually follow in small amounts, depending on where my thoughts are going. But there is always, ialways/i this all-encompassing warmth that spreads through my whole body; it makes the sadness not so sad, and the anger not so angry. It calms the anxiety, appeases the confusion, reasons with the doubt, and uplifts the happiness.

It's the love that flows through me, for him. That never leaves. Most don't realize just how strong that emotion is, nowadays. They always thought it was a crush, maybe stemming from hero worship, and it very well could have been… back when it started. But that was a couple years ago. I've grown older; I've changed. I'd like to even say I've grown more mature, but who can safely say that? I've had relationships and I've gained some experience. But what they taught me, that no guy will ever be as good as Logan, that never changed, only strengthened, and that is how I know I love him.

Because I can find happiness just sitting next to him watching a hockey game. I can find fun – yes, fun – in getting my ass kicked by him when we train, one-on-one. And at night, when I have a nightmare, I can find peace, safety, and sleep again, when he is near. And he usually is. When I have a nightmare and he's at the mansion, it's always him who comes to wake me up. It's always him who holds my hair if my stomach is too upset. And it's always him who holds me as I cry for what he – and sometimes Erik – had to go through at the worst hands of humanity. No one else has been as successful. No one else has received that tenderness from him; few people get to even see it.

That is how I know he loves me. In what way – as a brother, a father, a friend, a lover – I don't know, but I am certain he loves me some way. And usually, that's enough.

Coming out of my thoughts, I glanced around me. Everything was so lush these days, being late spring. Everything was so green, except for the flowers, which were vibrantly colorful. I loved it. And Logan, being Logan, had taught me to walk quietly and carefully in the woods, so every now and then I briefly saw a woodland creature. Realizing I was halfway to my destination, I let my thoughts wonder once more.

I wondered what he was doing right now. Well, it was midafternoon. Chances are, he was literally on the road, enjoying Scott's souped-up bike. While it was colder in Canada than here, generally, I figured it was still seasonably warm and Logan was probably enjoying the warm spring breeze.

My thoughts followed the path he would most likely take. Around dinnertime, he'd stop at the nearest town and grab a bite to eat at the diner. It would be some plate with more meat, usually red meat, than anyone should eat without dying. After that, he would head over to a motel and rent a room. He usually tried to keep out of trouble, so it was easier renting a room then than renting one after a fight when he was all bloody – but not really hurt. He'd put his stuff in his room and then head to the bar.

The first thing he'd do would be to sign up for a fight that night. After, he would drink – probably a Molson – until his turn was up. Then he'd kick ass until no one else wanted to fight and he'd collect his money.

This is where my thoughts get messed up. My heart wants to think that he'd have a drink, maybe two, more and then go back and sleep. My head tells me he picks up a barfly and has some rough and wild sex…

Which occasionally leads me down a path of "why not me?" even though I know all of his supposed reasons – that I happen to think are just plain stupid.

Sometimes it makes me mad, thinking about him screwing random women, but not just because it's not me he's screwing. No, most of my anger comes from the fact that he degrades himself like that. I mean, yeah, he enjoys it to some degree, but only because it physically feels good… like kicking the ass of an opponent. I've seen his memories, I've analyzed them, and one thing I am positive about these specific memories is that there is always something missing from his quick fucks. It's there, if you look closely enough. Unfortunately, he's still too much Wolverine by then and can't see it. Wolverine is just going through the motions, still on the prowl, searching for something and annihilating the ones that aren't it…

Wolverine is searching for his mate.

And I've had both of them in my head long enough to be fairly certain that his mate is me.

That feeling of belonging to someone, belonging to ihim/i, not as a possession, but as a partner, his other half, always brings a smile to my face. But frustration, anger, and hurt are quick to follow. Because even though I know it and accept it, even want it, idream/i of it, Logan still holds back.

I wonder if he just hasn't figured it out yet, but the voice in my head says he had to have, and I know that. Logan's not stupid. He's very observant and if there's one thing he always trusts, it's his instincts. And his instincts would be screaming at him to stay with me, make me his own, to never let me leave nor leave me.

But he's afraid. And whatever he's afraid of is enough to keep him away from me. It's enough that he can deny what he feels, what he knows is true.

It's enough so that he can lie to himself, and indirectly, lie to me.

By now I had reached my destination. Not far from Xavier's place is a small pond. It is deep and calm, a gorgeous dark bluish brown. It is circled by rocks, mainly, but there is a small strip of beach with a giant log on it. This log is where I go to. I walk around the lake to my right until I get to it. I sit down and take out my guitar and adjust it so that it sits perfectly across my lap. I look around the lake as my fingers start playing of their own mind. I see the path that I came up on and all the different flowers on the edge. There's a tire swing not too far from there, and some 20 yards later is a giant rock that is often used for jumping in the summer.

My eyes follow the pond's edge until they reach the beach I am sitting on. My eyes just wander after that, as my mind focuses, just ever so slightly. There has been a song stuck in my head recently, P!nk's "Try." I found it so fitting, and it really was a catchy tune; I quickly learned the chords.

My eyes found my fingers and they strummed the chords. Soon, I came upon the lyrics and did what my heart told me to do: I sang.

iEver wonder about what he's doing  
How it all turned to lies  
Sometimes I think that it's better  
To never ask why

Where there is desire  
There is gonna be a flame  
Where there is a flame  
Someone's bound to get burned  
But just because it burns  
Doesn't mean you're gonna die  
You've gotta get up and try, try, try  
Gotta get up and try, try, try  
You gotta get up and try, try, try/i

As soon as I finished the chorus, a breeze blew from the left bringing with it the scent of gas, oil, and tobacco. It was a shock, I'll admit it, to look up and see him standing at the edge of the path I had walked not 10 minutes ago, watching me. He looked good; tired, but good. I took in his worn flannel and faded jeans; the massive belt buckle that sparkled in the sun. I looked into his eyes, though, and not for the first time did I wonder what the emotion in them was.

I let my fingers run through the chords a couple times as we just watched each other. When I sang the next verse and chorus, he started walking around the pond towards me; I watched him out of the corner of my eyes as I focused on my fingers.

i Funny how the heart can be deceiving  
More than just a couple times  
Why do we fall in love so easy  
Even when it's not right

Where there is desire  
There is gonna be a flame  
Where there is a flame  
Someone's bound to get burned  
But just because it burns  
Doesn't mean you're gonna die  
You've gotta get up try, try, try  
Gotta get up and try, try, try  
You gotta get up and try, try, try/i

When he neared me, I let my fingers run through the chords again, repeating the chord progression a few times extra. He stood awkwardly for a while. I just watched him, continuing to strum. And he watched me, shifting from one foot to the other, uncertainty in his eyes. Finally he moved to sit next to me on the log. We looked at each other for a while, until I came up on the final verse, to which I looked out at the pond so that he wouldn't see how much I was affected by the song, by him. He never stopped watching me.

i Ever worried that it might be ruined  
And does it make you wanna cry?  
When you're out there doing what you're doing  
Are you just getting by?  
Tell me are you just getting by, by, by

Where there is desire  
There is gonna be a flame  
Where there is a flame  
Someone's bound to get burned  
But just because it burns  
Doesn't mean you're gonna die  
You've gotta get up and try, try, try  
Gotta get up and try, try, try  
You gotta get up and try, try, try  
Gotta get up and try, try, try  
Gotta get up and try, try, try  
You gotta get up and try, try, try  
Gotta get up and try, try, try

You gotta get up and try, try, try  
Gotta get up and try, try, try/i

As the song ended, I let the chords die out until my fingers were still. After a minute or so, I moved my guitar and placed it in its case. When I finally settled on the log again, I looked at him. He was still watching me. It wasn't like a stalker watching its obsession, or even a hunter watching its prey. It was more of someone looking into a body of water, thinking you can't see anything, and then all of a sudden, the water is clear as crystal and you can see all of the pretty fish and rocks and things.

My heartbeat sped up as I met his eyes, reacting to his intense gaze.

Awkwardness started to creep in, so I spoke, "I see you're back." He nodded. A few more moments of silence, then I spoke again. "I didn't hear your bike when I left; I'm sorry. If I had heard it, I would have welcomed you back right then."

He just stared at me for a while, then he spoke, his voice gruff and growly, but warm all the same; I hope he didn't see me shiver: "I parked the bike up the road a ways; decided a walk might be nice. Came upon you walking and followed you here. You should be more careful."

It was a small admonition, nothing too angry. But still I replied nonetheless, a smile crossing my face, "True, however I always have my Wolverine to protect me from anything big, bad, and ugly."

A smile flashed across his face before he was serious again. "I won't always be here to protect you."

I tapped my head. "I have you in my head, sugar; you are ialways/i with me. And that will be enough for me to at least get away."

He looked at me, then shook his head and sighed, a smile once again fighting its way across his face. "Come here," he growled as he pulled me into a one armed hug. I hugged him back as best I could.

He was warm and solid and completely iLogan/i. I took a good whiff of his scent from where my head rested against his chest and smiled. It was good to have him home.

I moved my head so that it rested against his shoulder as we stared out at the pond. For a while we just sat there, enjoying each other's company. Then he shifted a bit and spoke.

"That song you were singing… was it for anyone in particular?"

I moved so that I could look at him. He was already looking at me. Wanting him to realize how serious I was, I looked him straight in the eyes as I answered. "You."

He sighed and looked out at the pond before he answered. "Marie… I'm not…" he looked at me then, his eyes filled with pain and longing. I knew it. "Darlin' I'm not good enough for you. I've got no past, no roots, and a lot of baggage. What you see is what you get and darlin', you deserve better."

I didn't waver as I answered next. I wanted him to know just how serious I was. "Logan, I have you in my head. I've iseen/i what you are afraid I will figure out. I already iknow/i you, sugar." I reached up and ran my fingers through his hair. "I've seen what makes you afraid… of yourself, of me, of us… I know it, I see it, and more importantly, I iunderstand/i it. I understand why you're angry all the time, why you scare the kids," we both smiled, "why you have nightmares, why the Danger room is your second favorite room in the entire mansion… I see the nightmares, and the memories that you still have… and all they show me is a good man. And after all the trouble you've been through, I'm pretty damn sure you deserve a bit of happiness, if only for a lifetime."

He growled and leaned away from me. "How can you say that, Marie?! I'm a lean-mean-killing machine just ready to slice into someone!"

I stared at him steadily, waiting for his eyes to meet mine again. "Yes, you have deadly metal claws in your arms. Yes, you are practically indestructible. Yes, you have the mind and skills to be one of the deadliest killers on this planet. But when you have ever intentionally killed someone who didn't deserve it?"

He gave me a pointed look and answered, "That first night we were here, I stabbed iyou/i and you didn't deserve it."

I smiled at that. "Maybe I did. Maybe I shouldn't have been sneaking out in the middle of the night into a grown man's bedroom. However, you didn't do it iintentionally/i, Logan."

"That makes it even worse! There's no telling if it will happen again!"

I sighed, "And we'll deal with it if it happens, but I don't think it will… you care about me too much…" I met his eyes once more and whispered, with my heart going a mile a minute, "maybe even love me…"

His jaw dropped and his eyes got wide. Then he just stared hard at me with this closed expression.

I relaxed. He never could lie to me.

I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face even if I wanted to. "I hoped so," I said as I snuggled back into his side. He moved his arm around my shoulder and held me close… maybe it was just a bit closer than before.

"You know," I said after a few moments, "It might work. In fact, I think it would work very well."

"What might work," he grumbled.

I pulled back to get a better look at him, "You and me… us… whatever's between us… I think it's strong enough."

He looked at me, uncertainty evident in his eyes, but I also noticed the hope. "Marie, I don't… I'm going to mess up; you know I'm not perfect… I'm not romantic, like most other guys, Marie, you deserve all that… frou-frou stuff."

I smiled at him. "'Frou-frou' stuff? For one, I never said anything about 'frou-frou' stuff. And anything you give me or do for me will be sweet because it came from iyour/i heart. And I never said I wanted perfect, Logan… I want iyou/i, flaws, claws, and all. In my mind, you're already perfect, but that's just me." I stared hard at him, "if you're looking to not hurt me, you're not doing a very good job… it will hurt me more to not be with you, if you want to be with me, too. I'm not saying it will be easy, hell, it will probably be harder than most missions we go on, but I'm willing to try, if you are… I want to try, Logan. Do you? Don't you want to see what a life with me is like, even if for just a little bit?"

I watched as his steady eyes moved over my face. I watched as the emotions passing through his eyes mirrored the thoughts that were most likely moving through his mind. I saw uncertainty, doubt, a quick flash of anger, resignation, quickly followed by building hope. When he looked back at me, though, I knew he was about as close to making a decision as he was ever going to be.

And I knew, for sure this time, that the emotion that filled his eyes was most definitely love.

Even though he hadn't said anything yet, I saw it. I couldn't help the smile that exploded across my face, nor could I help myself as I tackled him – well, as much as I could with how close we were sitting. He gave this full belly laugh as he shifted me to his lap and wrapped his arms tightly around me.

"Sheesh, darlin', I haven't even said anything yet," I could hear the teasing in his voice and knew he was smiling, even though my head was tucked against his chest, right next to his heart.

"I know," I said, "but you're the Mighty Wolverine. 'Frou-frou' stuff isn't your style," I laughed a bit as I answered and received a not-really-annoyed growl. We sat like that for a while before he pulled away slightly.

"Logan, I thought we already went over this –" I really didn't want to have to give him another 'Listen to Me' speech, more because I really didn't have any other ideas how to say it; and I couldn't exactly reverse my mutation either.

He gave me a small smirk, probably at my 'spunk' as he calls it, but then sobered up. His face was serious and his eyes were filled so intensely with emotions, I quieted down and waited patiently. With one arm still holding me snug against him, the other came up to my cheek, brushing away some hair and came to settle holding my face so dearly. Of course, me being me, I noticed the worn and warm leather gloves he still wore, just for me, and I melted just a little more inside.

Then he smiled like the smile in the picture on my desk, though a little bigger, and my breath caught. He was so amazingly beautiful, he had no idea. He looked… well, he looked really and truly happy, and if I were in a different mood, I may have cried at the gorgeous sight.

I started breathing again when he started speaking. "I'm not going to try and argue you with you, darlin'; it hasn't worked so far, what makes anyone think it'll work again? Sides," he chuckled, "you're too damn stubborn anyhow," I huffed and his smile grew, "though I s'pose you learned that from me, huh?"

"Nah," I said, waving a hand nonchalantly, "us southern belles are always really stubborn; you just made it worse."

He gave a bark of laughter before he went back to being happy-serious and continued. "You say that it's been decided, that I don't do 'frou-frou' stuff, and that may all be true… but you deserve it as much as I can give." He moved close and rested his forehead against him, his skin shielded by my hair. "You can have me, darlin', for as long as you want me, and as long as I get you… we'll try, together, for however long you want to."

I smiled wide as I put my arms around his neck. "Of course, sugar; though I'm suspecting you and me will be together for quite a while."

He pulled me against his chest once more and held me, saying, "Wouldn't have it any other way."

bTry  
By P!nk/b

iEver wonder about what he's doing  
How it all turned to lies  
Sometimes I think that it's better  
To never ask why

Where there is desire  
There is gonna be a flame  
Where there is a flame  
Someone's bound to get burned  
But just because it burns  
Doesn't mean you're gonna die  
You've gotta get up and try, try, try  
Gotta get up and try, try, try  
You gotta get up and try, try, try

Eh, eh, eh

Funny how the heart can be deceiving  
More than just a couple times  
Why do we fall in love so easy  
Even when it's not right

Where there is desire  
There is gonna be a flame  
Where there is a flame  
Someone's bound to get burned  
But just because it burns  
Doesn't mean you're gonna die  
You've gotta get up try, try, try  
Gotta get up and try, try, try  
You gotta get up and try, try, try

Ever worried that it might be ruined  
And does it make you wanna cry?  
When you're out there doing what you're doing  
Are you just getting by?  
Tell me are you just getting by, by, by

Where there is desire  
There is gonna be a flame  
Where there is a flame  
Someone's bound to get burned  
But just because it burns  
Doesn't mean you're gonna die  
You've gotta get up and try, try, try  
Gotta get up and try, try, try  
You gotta get up and try, try, try  
Gotta get up and try, try, try  
Gotta get up and try, try, try  
You gotta get up and try, try, try  
Gotta get up and try, try, try

You gotta get up and try, try, try  
Gotta get up and try, try, try/i


End file.
